


Pearls Before Swine

by vitoliel



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky's first days in Department X, Dark, Electrocution, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Psychological Torture, This is not for warm and fuzzies, Torture, Waterboarding, if you want to be happy go somewhere else., just general warnings for bad people doing bad things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-22
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-18 08:38:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2342042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vitoliel/pseuds/vitoliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst part is he thought he was safe because they were Russian. The worst part is he began to look forward to the moments they hit him because at least someone was touching him.</p><p>Bucky's first days in the hands of Department X.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pearls Before Swine

**Author's Note:**

> This is the darkest thing I've written yet. Please let me know if there is something I need to tag.

The worst part is he thought he was safe because they were Russian.

-

Bucky faded back to consciousness in a dimly lit room. He was on a cot, a blanket over his legs and hips. There was a man standing over him. “Sergeant Barnes?” the man said. He rolled his ‘r’s and opened his mouth narrowly on the vowels. Russian. “Can you hear me?”

Bucky gasped. “Yes, sir.”

“My name is Dr. Alexander Brushkov. You are in Ally hands, Sergeant Barnes. You are safe now.”

Bucky’s mouth worked until he could form, “Steve?”

“Captain America has been deployed to Italy. The communication lines are damaged so we cannot reach the front. Rest assured, as soon as we can establish contact the Captain will be here. As it is, Sergeant Barnes, you are out of the fight. Your arm was badly damaged in the fall and we were forced to amputate it.”

Bucky’s eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I know. I hit an outcropping on the way down; felt the elbow go.”

“You are lucky to be alive,” Brushkov said. He looked down at him thoughtfully. “Almost too lucky.” Bucky’s stomach swooped and he didn’t say anything. After a long moment Brushkov shrugged. “Oh well. If you are awake then the General needs to ask some questions. Make sure we know everything we need to know to help you.”

He kept talking but the pain pulled Bucky under again. As the darkness crept over him he thought he heard Steve’s voice say his name.

 

Bucky drifted in and out for days. Either Brushkov or one of his assistants was there each time to give him water or lift his head enough to drink some watery cabbage soup. On the fifth day his fever broke. After he could sit up on his own, Brushkov came in with a uniform and helped him get dressed. “The General needs to speak with you now, Sergeant Barnes. There has been movement in Austria and we need to act quickly if we are to push back the forces of Hydra.”

“My intel’s probably outdated by now,” Bucky informed him. The doctor pulled his spare arm over his shoulder and helped him stand. “I won’t be much use out here.”

“I’m sure you have more information than you know, Sergeant.” Brushkov soothed. “There we go. One step at a time. Your muscles have atrophied very quickly but do not worry. It will come back.” The doctor pushed open the heavy doors to reveal a long grey hallway. There were two guards on either side of the door. Both of them fell in behind as they started down the hall. Progress was slow because Bucky could only shuffle along at half pace. Every once in a while, Brushkov let him rest a moment against the wall. His blood was pumping which made his stump hurt.

Brushkov led him into a small room with grey walls and a glass mirror on one end. There was a metal table with two chairs bolted down. Brushkov set him down in one. “Do you need anything?” Brushkov said gently. “I know it was a very long trip. Water, perhaps?”

He shook his head. He just wanted this to be over with so he could go home. Brushkov nodded and left. There was a clock overhead – big and old. Bucky watched the hand tick by, minute by minute. Ten minutes passed when the door opened and a man with stars on his shoulders walked in. “At ease,” he said before Bucky could stand. He sat down across from Bucky and flipped open a notebook. “Sergeant Barnes, I am General Lukin of Russia. We are very happy you are doing better. Do you know why you are here?”

“You need intelligence on current Hydra operations.” Bucky said. He sat straighter. “Sir, I regret to inform you that all knowledge I have on current SSR and Hydra are either outdated or classified.”

Lukin hummed and wrote something down. “I understand, Sergeant. I certainly do not want to push you past your oaths however here on the Russian boarder we are having our own problems. Hydra is pushing farther every year. Already I have lost Nevel, Sebezh, and Krasnodgorodisk. We Russians do not have the American Super soldier or vast military force. Here in Soviet Russia we have only our winter.” Lukin’s smile was worn and bitter. “Trust me when I say anything you can tell us, anything at all, would greatly help our efforts in protecting the Russian boarders, and by extension, your friends on the ground.”

Sergeant Barnes leaned back and studied the General. He was not a large man, but his shoulders were broad. He had a small beard, neatly trimmed, and his uniform was worn but cared for. He had lines around his eyes - laugher crinkles in the corners and a deep furrow between his eyebrows that spoke of worry. It was a good face. Honest but worn. “Hydra broke off from Germany a year ago. They started targeting the Kraut troops along side ours. They had… weapons like we’d never seen before.”

“Lasers,” Lukin supplied. “It shot blue light.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “You know them?”

Lukin nodded soberly. “They wiped out my troops along the boarder of Latvia. Two hundred good men just—“ His hand opened like he was releasing dust and ash to the wind. “Gone.”

Bucky nodded. He felt himself loosen though it made him more aware of the steady throb in his arm. “My unit was tasked with hunting Hydra. We found out Hydra had a slightly more…radical view of the world than even Hitler expected. They had plans for dividing up the world into different section and they aren’t about to share it with anyone. Anyone who got in their way was to be crushed.”

Bucky talked a bit about tactics – how Hydra operated. Their command system, troop numbers, retreat and tactical tendencies. He talked about the hierarchy, including Schmidt. Lukin was very interested in Schmidt.

“To take down an organization you must first cut off the leader,” he said. “Not matter how far removed, a leader’s ideals will always affect the flow of the troops. I’m sure you’ve seen this with your own Captain.” Bucky stayed silent. Hydra was one thing, but SSR operations were classified. Steve was more than classified. Lukin didn’t linger. “Tell me about Schmidt. Our sources have only discovered he is German, called the Red Scull.”

Bucky nodded. “Super soldier – failed experiment turned maniac. He was the first test of the Super Soldier program before Erskine defected to our side.”

“And how does he compare?”

Bucky frowned. “What do you mean?”

Lukin put his pen down and leaned back. “Well, you said he was the failed experiment, so therefore there must have been a successful one. Your Captain Rogers. So? How did the failure compare?”

The sergeant stayed silent. Lukin nodded once and made note. “Moving on. What seems to be Schmidt’s plan in all this?”

“What’s anyone’s plan when they decide to conquer the world,” Bucky said. “Schmidt’s a lunatic. He’s never made any demands or sent out any statements. He just claims he’s going to give the world order, whatever that means. But he’s smart. Everything is very compartmentalized – right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing but somehow they unbutton the dress anyway, if you know what I’m saying.” He tried to summarize months of observation, analysis, and intuition in a few words. “Lunatic, driven, God-complex, detail oriented.”

Lukin made a note. “And how sure are you that it was not the serum, the…” he checked his notes. It was a show move because his eyes didn’t move over the Cyrillic text before he flipped the page over. “How sure are you his psychosis was not because of the failed experiment done by Dr. Erskine?”

“Serum doesn’t change the mind,” Bucky said. “Just makes whatever was already there stronger.” Then he frowned. “Does this matter? Whether it was the serum or God’s twisted sense of humor, the man’s insane.” His gut tightened. Something was wrong. Very wrong. “Listen, I’ve given you what I can. How soon can I get in contact with my unit?”

“You unit?” Lukin said, surprised. “Sergeant Barnes, you are wounded. You’re arm is gone there is nothing more you can do for the war effort. The best thing for you to do is help us help your friends. After we are done here arrangements will be made.”

“And when are we done?” Bucky said. His stomach hurt.

Lukin raised his eyebrows. “We will be finished when we have what we need. Do not worry – we have contacted the Ally forces and alerted them to your status so there would be no confusion. You have full permission to be here.”

Bucky’s instincts screamed at him. “Brushkov.”

“Yes?” Lukin said, scanning his notes.

Bucky swallowed, dry. “Brushkov said the lines were down.” Lukin’s pen paused. “Didn’t expect contact on the Western front for two months. And you’re asking a lot of questions but a lot of them aren’t on Hydra and a hell of a lot of them are about Steve so why don’t you cut the crap and tell me what the _hell_ I’m doing here.”

Lukin put down the pen. He took of his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He leaned back in the chair and studied Barnes. “You are helping the war effort, Sergeant Barnes.”

“I want to be returned to the Western front.” Bucky said. “You have no right to keep me here. I am a United States Sergeant, and I know my rights as an injured combatant.”

“Yes, I imagine you do,” Lukin said as he stood up and walked to the mirror. He stood for a moment with arms linked behind him. “Truthfully, Sergeant, I had hoped to avoid all this. I hoped you’d be more cooperative.”

Bucky ran for the door. He burst through into the hallway and ran into an entire squad of guards. The men were waiting for him. Someone shouted something in Russian and the entire troop turned on him. Bucky kicked out and sent the first man flying. He took down two other guards as he went but the impact wasn’t enough to do more than wind them.

Bucky was weak. His muscles were atrophied, he hadn’t had a good meal in a week, and he was still fighting off the effects of the fever. Before he could do more than punch someone in the jaw he was down and pinned. Bucky screamed and twisted. He bit the arms that held him, scratched and clawed at eyes and throats.

Someone’s fist slammed hard onto his stump. The world vanished in a white out. Pain. Then blackness.

 

He woke up in a cell. Six by six by six. There was a small mattress beside a bowl he didn’t want to think about but recognized from his stint in Hydra’s hands. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut and curled into a ball beside the mattress. He breathed in, steady and slow, and out, steady and slow.

He counted each breath until he reached fifty, and then counted each breath backwards until he reached one.

He thought about his mom – how her eyes crinkled when she smiled, her voice, and the calluses of her hand when they pushed through his hair. He prayed. He confessed his sins to the wall. He prayed some more.

He thought about Steve.

When he heard the click of boots on tile he was ready.

He greeted the guards on his feet, fist clenched, and teeth barred. The first guard went down easy – one clean hit to the corner of his jaw where the nerve ran to the brain. The second one was bigger and heavier but he was trained, light on his feet. Bucky hit him hard in the gut. The man grunted but didn’t hesitate in wrapping one large arm around Bucky and slamming him into the wall. Bucky’s back and stump screamed at him, but he didn’t let it stop him this time. He wrapped his legs around the guard’s waist and slammed his forehead into his nose.

The big guy stumbled back. Bucky gave him a push and tried to reach the door. Guard number three tackled him before he got there. The guard wrenched his remaining arm back and placed a knife beside his cheek. “Stop, or I’ll cut off your ear.”

Bucky didn’t wait to consider his options. He twisted, felt his shoulder pop, and kicked the guard in the throat.

There was a point he needed to reach – a point that took all pain, all fear, all thoughts of survival and shoved it into a tiny box in the back of his mind. It was a point that evaluated his body, his mind, his integrity and considered it all naught in the face of his mission. What value did his arm have if it kept him from his mission? What value had pain if it hindered him? Nothing.

He reached for that nothingness and pulled.

More guards rushed in, but they didn’t head for Bucky. Instead they grabbed their downed comrades and pulled them out. Bucky lunged for the door but hit metal as they slammed it in his face. He screamed, loud and feral, and beat the door with his foot. His shoulder burned and ached. It took hours for his hands to stop shaking.

After that there was silence. He heard someone breathing outside his cell. A few low voices speaking in Russian. The small window of the door opened once and he saw someone’s eyes peering in. The window closed before he could do anything about it.

Time passed. He began to count hours by guard shifts. One shift every eight hours. One day every three shifts.

The first day passed slowly. The guards talked about something that made them laugh. Occasionally he smelled food – meat, potatoes. He heard them drink water. Bucky swallowed against the dryness of his mouth and nose and held on.

The second day his skin started to dry. His lips cracked and bled. The chamber pot sat barely used beside the mattress. He could hear them talking. Not the guards. Past the guards. Steve. His mom. “Hold on. Hold on.” Bucky held on.

On the third day he couldn’t do much more than list against the side of his cell. The room tilted when he moved. He felt confused, disoriented. Twice he woke up thinking he was home and called out for his sister, his mother, his friend.

“Steve.” Bucky said. “Steve please I need ya to come get me again. C’mon, Steve, we’re gonna be late for work.”

Three days. Three days without food, without water. Bucky’s mouth dried. His throat dried. It got so bad he was tempted to drink his own piss. Another shift change. Bucky blinked awake – Lukin was standing in front of him. “Are you ready to cooperate, Sergeant Barnes?” The voice was far away. Another hallucination. Bucky laughed and tried to spit but his mouth was too dry. Oh well. Stupid idea anyway. The hallucination sighed. “Get him up. Get him to the Red Room.”

Men in grey uniforms stormed his vision. They hoisted him by the arms and dragged him out.

He was getting real sick of waking up in new and sick formations. Bucky jolted awake. “— reach consciousness now. And… hit him again.” Someone hit him, open palm, across the lips and cheek. “Can you hear us? Wake up!”

They hit him with a wall of ice water. Bucky gasped, arching in his chair. Water droplets fell onto his lips and on his tongue. His eyes snapped open to a wide, blank room full of white walls, white tiles on the floors and ceilings, and white men dressed in white. He was completely naked and strapped to a chair. Lukin stood in front of him. “Sergeant Barnes. Good morning. I hope you are feeling better?”

“You sick, treasonous son of a goddamn bitch,” Bucky swore. “Slick, yellow-livered, twisted, snake skinned _bastard_.” Lukin rocked back on his heels and waited for him to finish. When it became clear Barnes wasn’t slowing down, Lukin nodded to the man beside Bucky. He reached out, twisted his fingers into Barnes’ hair and slammed his head into the back of the chair.

“You can curse me, Sergeant. You can curse the circumstances, you can curse your luck, you can even curse your god, if you have one. That will not change the facts.” Lukin turned and lifted his hands to gesture to the room. “Welcome to Department X! We are still a small covert branch of the Russian army but we are a strong, powerful root of the great tree that forms the Soviet Union. I see you are not impressed. That is fine. I do not need you to be.”

Lukin gestured to one of the soldiers who brought him a chair. He sat down and casually crossed one leg over the opposite knee. “My doctors have told me something very interesting,” he said, clasping his hands across his belly. “They told me the wounds we thought would never heal have fixed themselves in an unprecedented amount of time. Even your dehydration! Cured with a few sips of water!”

He smiled and clapped his hands. “Remarkable! So I thought – what could this be? What could do this? And I considered the fact that we had no idea what the American Government had been cooking up in their secret labs. If they made one Captain America, why not two?”

Bucky’s body flushed cold. He stilled his face and closed it down, relaxing the muscles of his face and neck group by group. Lukin studied him and kept talking. “I see I have hit close to the mark, but not quite. Sergeant Barnes, this will be much kinder on you if you cooperate. This is your final warning.”

James Barnes looked at him through the grip his muscleman had on his hair and said, slowly, clearly, “Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32557038.”

Lukin leaned back and nodded. “I commend your loyalty.” He looked at the men around him. “We will begin now.”

The men bustled and moved. Someone lowered the back of the chair until Bucky was flat on his back so his head hung lose. They placed a damp rag over his mouth and nose and held it tight against his struggles. He fought against the bands across his wrist and ankle. Someone shuffled closer like they were heavy. Two bodies on either side of his head, one of them grunted.

Water flowed over the rag. It flowed down his nose and throat, into his eyes. He tried to gasp in air but choked on water. Bucky began to thrash – his lungs ached, burned, he yelled but it turned into a gurgle as water poured into mouth.

“Enough.” Lukin ordered. “Sit him up.” Someone pulled the rag off his face. James spat a mouthful of water in the nearest guard’s face. He breathed in. Once, twice, three times. “Put him down again.” James struggled but the hands had better leverage. The rag rested over his face again and the torture began again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

 

They dragged him back to his cell. The mattress was gone as was the chamber pot. Lukin walked ahead of them and stood over Barnes as he lay trembling from shock. “I will give you the rules, Sergeant Barnes. Your name is no longer James Buchannan Barnes. Every time you use it we will bring back the water.

“When I come into your cell you will greet me respectfully on your knees. Disobedience will be harshly punished. If you are good you will receive water. If you perform well you will receive food. If you are respectful you will receive clothes, blankets, warmth. All of these are rewards. All of these will be taken away from you if you misbehave. Do you understand, Asset?”

James looked at him. He rolled over and got his hands under him. His shoulders and legs burned from struggling against the bonds but he carefully pushed himself to his knees. Then, one foot after the other, he got up from his knees until he was standing – hunched over, curved around painful ribs, but standing. Bucky looked at Lukin and said, “Barnes, James Buchannan. Sergeant. 32557038.”

Lukin sighed and turned away. “He will learn,” he said to the guards as he closed the door. “They always learn.”

 

That night the room got cold. Someone had removed the glass and shutters of his window and big flurries of snow drifted in from the outside. He tracked the journey of one as it drifted from the window to the corner and melted against the white tiles. Bucky curled up tight and drew his legs and arm close to warm his body core.

In the morning his new routine started. The guards banged on the door before the sun began to peek over the cracks of the window. “On your knees!” Yelled the only English-speaking guard. “On you knees, now!”

Bucky remained curled in his corner. Ten minutes later the door banged open and the guards flooded in. Weak from hunger and thirst and the cold, Bucky would try to fight them off but eventually sheer number and exhaustion overwhelmed him. The guards kicked and hit him until he curled up and protected his head. Eventually the soldiers forced him to his feet before forcing him to kneel by kicking the back of his knees. One of the soldiers held his wrist behind him and forced his head to bow. Every day Lukin walked in, looked at the spectacle and sighed. “Again, Asset? You will learn. You will.” He looked at the Head Guard and said,“Продолжить”

 

The guard nodded and ordered his men to drag Bucky to the big room. They strapped him face down in the chair so that his head was pointed at the floor with his feet raised up waist high. The head guard walked over to the left side of the room.

Bucky tracked him by the skid of rubber on the tiles. His trousers rustled as he stopped and considered the wall. Something clattered as the guard picked up something from the wall. It swished when he swung it. Swish. Swish. Swish.

Footsteps walking back. Bucky’s skin prickled. The bare skin on his neck and back tightened as his toes began to curl and uncurl. His breathing picked up as the guard stopped by his feet. The guards talked to each other across his body. Someone laughed and ran a hand over Bucky’s back, not touching him but pushing the air so it ran across the cold sweat gathered in the small of his back.

The big guard placed a strap of leather over Bucky’s ankles. He stepped back. Bucky’s breath quickened.

The cane swished, once. Twice. Then it swished and hit him across the bottom of his foot.

At first it went ice cold like someone had laid a strip of an icicle across his skin. Then the blood rushed back and pain splintered from his skin into his nerves and bones. Bucky bit back all sound and gripped the edge of the strap holding his hand down. Swish. Strike. Swish. Strike. Swish. Swish. Strike. Strike. Strike. A whimper caught in Bucky’s throat and tried to worm its way out of his mouth. Someone grabbed his foot and bent it. He felt bones grind where they were cracked or broken and bit into his lip so hard he drew blood.

Swish. Strike. Strike. Swish.

Swish. Swish. Swish. They laughed when he flinched at dead air. Swish. Strike. Strike. Strike.

“Barnes, James Buchanan. Sergeant. 32257038.” Strike. Strike. Strike. “Barnes,” Bucky gasped through the pain. “James Buchanan. 32257038.” Strike. Strike. Strike. “Barnes!” He yelled against the fire that spread through his heels and the balls of his feet, through his instep and his ankles. “James Buchanan! Sergeant. 32257038! Oh, God!”

The guard by his head kept close watch. Every time it Bucky was on the edge of passing out the big guard stepped back. They tilted the chair forward so Bucky’s head dropped into a strategically placed bucket of water. Desperate for air, Bucky’s body surged with adrenaline; his muscles shook and struggled, back arching against leather straps.

They tilted the chair back and Bucky came up with a gasp for air. He came up and spat blood and water in the guard’s face. The guard roared and hit him with his nightstick. Bucky spat on him again.

Someone grabbed his feet and spanked them with an open palm across bleeding cuts and broken bone. Bucky thrashed and cursed them to hell.

When they were done they made him walk back to his cell. Sometimes they took the long way around so he walked naked past desks full of men and women in uniform, past cells of other prisoners who either hooted or watched him pass in knowing silence. He left bloody footprints in his wake.

At nine the guards pounded on the door and yelled for him to kneel. Bucky struggled to his feet and stayed standing despite the burn and spike of pain that shot from the soles of his feet up to his knees. The slot of the door opened and a guard carrying breakfast peered in. Bucky’s chin lifted in defiance. The guard gave him a long, dark look and closed the slot. He didn’t get breakfast.

Or lunch because he said his name and rank and refused to fight the prisoner locked in the room with him. They hoisted him by his wrist and let him hang until his shoulder popped out of place. They spun him and spun him and spun him like a child’s toy.

Or dinner because he sat across from Brushkov silently and counted the seconds until the meeting was done and he could return to his cell. They spread him across the table made him watch as they slipped pieces of wood under his nails.

Every night after dinner they led him to the room with the damp rag and bucket of water and asked him his name. Every day after the dinner he didn't eat he looked them in the eye and said, "My name is James. Buchanan Barnes. Sergeant. 32557038."

At midnight they shoved in a single cup of gruel so watery it was practically water. Bucky scrambled for it on his knees and cupped his hand around the lukewarm comfort until it was cold and hardening to ice. He ate it and got ready for the next day.

Over the course of the night his skin began to stitch itself together until the bottoms of his feet was covered in pink shiny skin as soft as a newborn’s. His bones cracked into place with small quiet, painful pops. The cold sank into the cracks and numbed the pain. James stuck his fingers in his mouth and bit down to muffle the whimpers.

The next day it started all over again.

-

The worst part is he began to look forward to the moments they hit him because at least someone was touching him.

-

He scratched the days into the wall with a stray stone. It was too small to attack someone with but it was strong enough to make a gentle white line.

On the twelfth day he was so hungry he almost dropped to his knees. He came to his senses just as his legs began to bend and locked them instead. To make up for it he spat in Lukin’s face as they kicked his knees in.

Instead of his feet they caned his hand.

He never spat at Lukin again.

 

On the fifteenth day they led him to the chair and strapped him in facing forward. One of them pressed his head back against the headrest while another wrapped a leather strap across his throat. The English speaking guard leaned in and said, “You open, or we choke you. Your choice.” Bucky offered him a smile that was all teeth and opened his mouth. The guard raised an eyebrow but gamely tried to fit the mouth guard inside; Bucky twisted his head and snapped at the fleshy part of his hand. The guard jerked back with a flurry of Russian curses. His comrades laughed and jeered at him. Humiliated the guard punched Bucky in the groin.

Someone was still laughing when they stepped up behind Bucky. The belt around his neck tightened. Bucky’s jaw dropped open. Saliva pooled and someone stuck a piece of rubber between his teeth and over his tongue. They strapped it in with a piece of canvas. Bucky gagged and breathed in quickly through his nose. There would be no mercy if he threw up.

One of them rolled out two coils of wires and a set of clamps.

Bucky’s chest began to heave. The technician stripped the ends of the wires and threaded it through the clamps. He twisted the wires and threaded them into a small box on the ground beside him.

He put the clamps between Bucky’s toes, on his genitals, and on the skin under his arms. The metal bit into his skin like sharp cat teeth. Bucky grabbed onto that thought. He thought about the cats that used to gather outside their window. Steve was allergic but he still put out a saucer of water and meat that was about to go bad. There was the calico – called Miss Priss. The tom cat – called Miss Piss. The ginger with a missing ear – Ol’ Snapper. And the—

They flipped the switch.

Bucky’s thought vanished into ice fire and pain that tore through his body. He smelled burning flesh and skin. Someone was screaming.

And screaming.

And screaming.

 

On day fourty-nine, Bucky dropped to his knees. The guards stared in shock when they opened the door. They crowded in the door and spoke in whispers. The littlest one shoved in a bowl of milk and gruel. The door closed.

Bucky stared at the bowl of gruel until Lukin walked in. “Given in?” Lukin sighed. “Disappointing. Well, I suppose we can’t all be super soldiers.”

Rage built in Bucky’s chest. It coiled and burned and – Bucky picked up the gruel and threw it at the General. It flew past his head and splattered across the walls of the cell. Lukin looked at the splattered mess and tisk’d. “Such a waste. Well. I suppose that is your punishment for now.” He turned to the guards and spoke a command. The guards filed out and closed the door behind them.

Bucky curled into a ball in the corner and spoke into his knees. “You did what you needed to do, Barnes. No good waitin’ on a rescue if Steve’s gonna find you dead. You did good; it’s okay. You’re okay. You’re not giving in, Barnes, you’re just bein’ smart about this. You tried it Steve’s way. Now we’re gonna try this the smart way.” He closed his eyes and buried his face in the crook of his remaining arm. His hand reached around and grabbed the empty shoulder of his left shoulder.

He gasped silently, too dehydrated to produce tears. “Steve,” he gasped. “Steve, please find me. Please find me, Buddy, ‘cause I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

-

On day 111, Bucky snapped the neck of the other prisoner.

-

On day 283 Lukin walked in a lay a newspaper with DEATH OF CAPTAIN AMERICA! written across the front page. Bucky picked it up with a shaking hand. He read everything twice trying to find the hidden message in the text.

“This will not break me!” Bucky screamed at everyone who listened. He fought harder, cursed louder, screamed his name, rank, and serial number until his throat bled. "I will not break for you!"

-

On day 297, James Buchanan Barnes broke.


End file.
